


Dust

by ButterflyGhost



Category: due South
Genre: Gen, Vegas, tag_2013
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 16:33:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyGhost/pseuds/ButterflyGhost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the tag 'dust on the ground.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dust

“Frase?”

 

I blink. I must have been away with the fairies,  because I hadn’t even noticed Ray come into the room.

 

“What are you staring at? ” Ray’s voice is teasing, but there’s a little concern behind it.

 

“I’m…” I pause. What can I say? _‘I’m staring at dust on the ground?’_ My eyes return to the patch of the floor, transfixed by the little that remains of the dust. The plasterers did a good job. You’d never have known there had been a hole in the wall – and you’d certainly never have guessed there was a body behind it.

 

Ray’s eyes follow my gaze, and he sits on the edge of the table. I am standing – _‘there is something wrong with me,’_ I think, I can never relax. I sigh, try to slump my shoulders, slouch, Ray like. No – still stiff as a board. Ray’s swinging his feet like a school child, and playing the air drums. I envy him that. 

 

He finishes his dramatic performance by crashing an imaginary cymble and grins at me. One of those quick flashes that turns shy just before he looks away. “You looking where Guy Rankin was?”

 

“Yes,” I admit. Ray, as always, has seen right through me.

 

“You know we got the guy, you don’t got to worry about Vecchio no more.”

 

“Yes,” I lie, with my usual lack of conviction. Ray winces.

 

“Ouch,” he says, “of course you’re gonna worry about him.” _‘Well, of course,’_ I want to snipe. _‘He is undercover with the Mafia after all.’_ “Hey,” Ray says, and I feel guilty, because he’s so clearly struggling for something helpful to say. “He’ll be okay. Sounds like a smart guy.”

 

“Yes,” I say. “Yes, he’s…”

 

“He’s what?” Ray is standing up now, and pats me on the back. I relax a little at the touch.

 

“He’s been gone a while,” I say, staring at the wall. “He’s been gone a long while. I wonder…”

 

“Wonder?”

 

 _‘I had a dream last night,’_ I want to tell him. _‘I had a dream, and my first friend in Chicago was lost in the desert. Dirt, and dust and rocks. I had a dream that he couldn’t find his compass. He was digging_ _in the dirt, when I found him. He looked up at me, and for a minute he wasn’t Ray Vecchio at all. For a minute, he was some stranger called Armando.’_

 

“I just wonder if he’s okay. That’s all.” I smile at this other Ray, Ray Kowalski. It was nothing. Just a bad dream. One day, I hope, my Rays will meet. One day, I hope they’ll be friends.

 

If all goes well. If my first Ray ever comes home.

 

 _God help him,_ I think. _Don’t let him be buried in concrete. Or worse._ I shudder.

 

Something walked over my grave.

 

 

* * *

 


End file.
